


In the Ocean We'll Hold Hands

by jumblebumps



Series: Dishonored MerMay AU [2]
Category: Dishonored (Video Games)
Genre: Asexual Daud (Dishonored), DO NOT COPY, Do not repost, Eldritch Outsider, Established Relationship, Fluff, M/M, MerMay, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Pre-Canon, The Abbey of the Everyman as a content warning, mermaid au, mermaid!Corvo
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-07
Updated: 2021-02-14
Packaged: 2021-03-02 18:55:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,355
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24061720
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jumblebumps/pseuds/jumblebumps
Summary: Human courtship is almost unbearably slow, but Corvo is determined. He decided a long time ago what he wanted, and woe be on anyone who tries to hurt those he cares about. Especially Daud.
Relationships: Corvo Attano/Daud
Series: Dishonored MerMay AU [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1735861
Comments: 23
Kudos: 90





	1. Don't You Want to Swim with Me?

**Author's Note:**

> To everyone who wanted more mermaid AU goodness, I have been persuaded!!! Thank you to everyone who liked "Rising Tide," I hope you continue to like this new installment!
> 
> The work and chapter titles all come from "Bones" by The Killers, an excellent song from an excellent band that you should totally listen to! (At least the song, it fits lol)
> 
> Thank you thank you thank you to SeptemberSky for beta reading this for me and ensuring that it is indeed in recognizable English! You're amazing and I love you <3

Humans, Corvo decides early on, are endlessly fascinating.

First is clothing. He… He could really do without the pants, honestly, (they’re restrictive, the feeling of fabric wrapped around and  _ between _ his legs is so foreign, Corvo doesn’t think he’ll ever be totally comfortable with it) but Daud insists he wears  _ something _ on his lower half. Humans are rather insistent that one be wearing clothes as often as is practical (and even sometimes when Corvo thinks it really isn’t), and given just how  _ cold  _ it can be on land and how wildly the temperature can fluctuate even within the span of a single day, the obsession is at least somewhat understandable. What Corvo  _ doesn’t _ understand is how some people are socially expected to wear one type of clothes instead of another based solely on their sex, and then there are further restrictions based on something called “style” and whether or not certain clothes are in it or not.

(Which is really just a long way of saying Corvo would really rather wear skirts if he has to wear something at all.)

Second, boundaries. He figures out quickly that humans aren’t overly big on touching. Touching strangers is a big no-go apart from occasional handshakes. Only mated pairs of opposite sexes are allowed to touch each other in public (which is absolutely ridiculous for several reasons, but fine). Daud’s pod (the Whalers, they call themselves, a name that tickles Corvo’s sense of irony given the nature of the Leviathan through whom they get their powers) doesn’t seem to mind as much, though. It took weeks before Daud was willing to bring Corvo around to meet them, and weeks more before he let a small handful of trusted people learn about Corvo’s nature, but since then things have been really great. The kids absolutely love Corvo’s enthusiasm for playing games with them. One of the little girls, Anatole, asked once if she could do Corvo’s hair, sparking a whole new activity where Corvo sits on the floor to let a small pack of children braid and play with his hair.

Third, cooking. Now  _ cooking _ is something Corvo can get behind! He still likes fish, but there are all sorts of other meats that can be prepared all sorts of ways that make his mouth water. The plants are...edible when cooked. Daud ends up advising him to avoid dairy when it becomes clear it hurts his stomach. Sweets, on the other hand, are nothing short of amazing. Sweet breads and pastries quickly become favorites, and Corvo learns to practice pickpocketing and general thievery on Geoff’s stashes of candies. (Another reason the younger Whalers take quickly to Corvo: he shares sweets with them.)

Finally...courtship. This he figured out quickly when Daud didn’t respond to Corvo’s early advances how he was expecting, but human courtship is different. Mer tend to be direct, a necessity when their bioluminescence can easily betray their true feelings. There’s a period of gift-giving, trying to ingratiate themselves to their intended’s pod and showing their prowess as a hunter and provider with anything from trinkets to whole kills. If their feelings are reciprocated, the pair may hunt or travel together, alone, to see how well they fit together, how they communicate as a couple, and whether they can actually stand one another for long periods. Finally, if both agree, the couple is joined. Tradition varies between regions or even between pods or individual families, but once the two become mates they are bound in blood for life.

Humans, on the other hand, are  _ slow. _ He's flipped through books and spoken with Geoff extensively on the matter, and even  _ humans _ don't know what their standard courtship ritual is! Mates don't even have to  _ like _ each other if money or property gets involved, which just… Try as he might, Corvo just can't get his head around that idea.

What does appear standard is that the male (it's always "the male," which Corvo has other opinions of, but  _ fine) _ presents the female (again, opinions on that, but  _ fine) _ with a ring. If she accepts, they get married.

If Daud were a mer, Corvo thinks they might be mated by now, though sometimes it’s hard to tell what Daud is thinking, even with the scattered emotions that bleed across the Arcane Bond between them, the link stronger between the two of them than between Daud and any of the other Whalers. He’s...hesitant. He has gotten more comfortable with physical closeness over the past two years, and Corvo knows it helps that he doesn’t push him, would never push him, to do anything he doesn’t want. Sex is secondary, or even tertiary or nonexistant when compared to Daud’s comfort and happiness.

Corvo loves him, more than he ever could anyone else.

So he makes a ring.

It’s easier than a rune or a bonecharm where one mistake can easily turn a boon into a curse, but the Deep forbid he ruins this. If he’s going to propose to Daud, it has to be perfect. He finds a whale carcass in the deep (taken by age, a luxury Corvo fears many soon won’t have if the humans continue on their track of using whale oil to power their machines), and selects a few segments of the fin where the bones are already rounded and almost the size of a human finger. He takes them back to the hollow he’s claimed as his own to work into a band. The etching is difficult to settle on; humans decorate their engagement rings with gems, and mer don’t often wear jewelry, so Corvo has nothing to fall back on besides bonecharms and runes. Those designs he stays away from, even when he can hear the bone softly humming and pulling his knife to make the patterns that would give it power.

What he settles on is a thin, white band of smoothed whalebone carved with a motif of waves or water currents. Simple, but Daud would never go for something too intricate. Corvo hopes he likes it.

* * *

Going to the market stresses Daud out, understandable given his profession, even if he does wear a mask when he’s on jobs. His scar makes his face too distinctive. But Corvo thinks that it’s also just who he is, that crowds would make him nervous even if he wasn’t one of the most wanted men in Dunwall. Thus, it’s usually one of the others who goes shopping (they rotate, Daud being worried that one person buying so many supplies so frequently would be suspicious), making those rare times Corvo persuades Daud to go out somewhat special.

“What else do we need?”

Corvo scans their list, narrowing his eyes a little at Coleman’s handwriting (you’d think that given the man’s mostly deaf he’d at least try to make his writing legible, but no). “Floor…? No, flour. How is that a ‘u?’”

Daud shrugs, tugging at his hood a little to try to hide his smile.

“We need some meat, too. The kids are getting tired of the tinned stuff, and frankly I don’t think it’s that good for them.”

“It’s fine.”

“It  _ smells.” _

“Not that much it doesn’t.”

Corvo glares down at him. He’s about half a head taller than Daud with his legs, it’s great, especially when Daud gets grumpy about it. (Though his tail is somewhere around twelve feet long, it really shouldn’t have been a surprise.) “Your nose is off. There’s... _ stuff _ in it.”

“Preservatives,” Daud amends.

“Those have no business being in there!”

Daud sighs and veers towards the butcher storefronts and fishmonger stands with a placating, “Fine. Let’s see what they have.”

Corvo follows along, still looking over the list. “Hmm, we need vegetables, too…”

“Rice.”

“Rice,” Corvo echoes. “Beans…”

“They’re cheap,” Daud says, getting ahead of the complaint he can hear coming.

“Money is stupid.”

“And yet it runs everything.”

“Hmph.”

Daud moves closer to Corvo, one eye securely on someone who must have been watching them too closely. It’s inevitable that Corvo stands out, even if he makes the concession to looser-fitting pants rather than his preferred skirts when going out in public. He’s still tall, his wavy hair is wrapped into a braid that does little to hide how long it is, and he is (as Geoff has bluntly put it) “prettier than most women.” Still, it’s best that no one focuses too hard on him; the bonecharm doesn’t completely hide his non-human tells. His ears are a little too small, too round, and sit too flat against his head. He can’t show his teeth when he smiles at strangers lest someone notice how sharp they are. He still has claws, and though they’re shorter than normal, he’s afraid to cut them completely dull in case they don’t grow back, so gloves are next to impossible. He’s only able to cover the scar from the Arcane Bond and his bonecharm with linen wrapped securely around his left hand and wrist. If anyone were to watch his eyes too closely for too long, they would see that his pupils respond too closely to his mood and not enough to the light.

Maybe it’s good, then, that Corvo and Daud don’t get the chance to go out in public much.

He nudges Daud's shoulder with his own and murmurs, "Come on, I think I hear someone barking about a sale."

It isn't until they're a ways away before Daud relaxes somewhat, but he's still stiff all over, like he's waiting for something to come out and attack them at any moment. Corvo frowns slightly, wanting to hold his hand, hug him, kiss his cheek, something that takes his stress away. But they're in public. So he tries to distract him instead.

“If you want, I could go fishing later,” he says. The wares of the fishmonger stalls they're passing are too small and boney, and even from here Corvo can smell that some have been doctored to appear fresher than they are. “See if I can find some big tuna… Albacore… Salmon? It's nearly spawning season, they'll be nice and fat.” He adds the description of the latter like he's tempting Daud with a piece of cake.

“Maybe…” Daud glances over the fish on sale and makes a face, clearly coming to a similar conclusion as Corvo. “I swear they only bring the bycatch to market… That would probably be best.”

Corvo tries his best not to visibly preen. “Whatever would you do without me?” he teases, grinning a bit too wide for where they are.

“Eat a lot less fish, that's for sure,” Daud says. He pauses to think, then returns Corvo's devilish grin. “More vegetables,” he teases, only to laugh when Corvo mocks him in a high pitched voice.

The rest of their shopping trip goes by uneventfully. It isn't until they've just about finished and are on their way home that Daud startles and tugs his hood down more.

“Something wrong?” Corvo murmurs.

By way of answer, Daud just gives a noncommittal grunt and gives a subtle nod to a couple on his right. A well-dressed, bespectacled man with light brown hair holding shopping bags while his shorter, somewhat rounder partner is examining a display of apples. Their black hair is pulled in a tight bun at the nape of their neck, and their suit is an odd borderline between a feminine and masculine style.

“She knows me,” Daud says. “Or did. Come on.”

Corvo follows and the couple doesn’t notice them. When they’re securely out of earshot, he asks, “Who was that?”

“Someone I met at the Academy. We shared a class.” 

Daud’s mentioned attending the Academy of Natural Philosophy, but never more than in passing after Corvo asked what it was. The promise of more information about Daud’s past piques Corvo’s interest.

“Oh?”

Daud sighs out his nose. “Her name is Fisher. Or was. She’s gotten married, I think it’s Devereux now. She’s a doctor, works at a clinic near Drapers Ward.”

Corvo raises an eyebrow. “You don’t know if she’s married?”

Daud shifts the bag he’s carrying to his other arm. “I… We haven’t exactly spoken…”

“...But you know where she works?”

Daud coughs. “I’ll send someone to...check...every so often…”

“Really?”

“Not for a contract,” he clarifies. “We’re getting more people, I’m just thinking ahead. We’re going to have need for a doctor eventually, and I want one we can trust. There’s no end to the back-alley quacks, but neither their skills nor their discretion are guaranteed.”

“You thought maybe if it was someone who knows you…”

“Maybe. Can’t hurt.”

They’re nearing the docks and the wind off the water keeps blowing Daud’s hood off. After fixing it twice, he gives up and leaves it. They’re nearly home, anyway; it doesn’t matter if anyone sees him at this point. When the warehouse is in sight, he noticeably relaxes.

His eyes are almost the same grey as the overcast sky, and Corvo’s mind goes back to the now-married doctor and the ring he’s been carrying in his pocket.

“Daud?”

“Hm?”

Corvo shifts his own shopping bag so that he has a hand free to brush against Daud’s. When he doesn’t pull away, Corvo latches their fingers together. “Have you ever thought about it?”

Daud’s hands are rough and callused. Corvo doesn’t think his own will ever match, no matter how much he trains with climbing and weapons, and he loves the feeling of Daud’s thumb gently brushing over his knuckles. “About what?”

“Getting married.”

He doesn’t quite jolt, but the question is clearly a surprise. “Married?”

“To me,” Corvo clarifies, nudging their shoulders together. “Someday.”

Daud doesn’t respond immediately, clearly choosing his words carefully even if his grip on Corvo’s hand tightens ever so slightly and his eyes spark with longing affection. “Would you really want to be stuck with me forever?” He says it almost like a joke, hiding the insecurity Corvo knows is there.

“Yes,” Corvo all but stares him down, “I really would.”

Daud blinks, turning back to face forward as his cheeks turn slightly pink. “...Maybe,” he murmurs. “Eventually.”

It’s enough for now that his answer isn’t a rejection. If he had his tail, Corvo’s bioluminescence would be sparkling. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alternative chapter title: Corvo is not having any of your heteronormative bullshit


	2. The Thunder Speaks for the Sky

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heeeey...
> 
> So when I say that I started working on this chapter immediately after posting the first one, I mean I have been actively working on this in some capacity since the middle of May 2020. Seeing as it is now February 14, 2021, I am understandably tired of looking at it. I have rewritten every section at least twice, possibly three times, and according to SeptemberSky, who has graciously read this over for me like a saint, I have finally ironed out the residual melodrama that plagued the first draft.

The job starts normal enough. Nothing about the contract seems out of the ordinary when Daud finds it on his desk, even the part about meeting the client in a warehouse on the other end of the docks. He’s had shadier requests.

No, the first indication that something might maybe be wrong is that the client is late. Daud’s managed to earn himself quite the reputation, and part of that is he can _not_ stand when clients are late. This one’s probably some noble who thinks that by making Daud wait they can prove a point and “put him in his place” as “the hired help,” or a foreman who thinks he’s more important than he actually is. Whichever it is, Daud will be sure to correct their misconceptions.

As soon as someone shows up…

Corvo leans his head on Daud’s shoulder while they wait, their vapor masks pushed up and out of the way for the time being, while Geoff leans against the wall, chain smoking. If it bothered Corvo less, Daud would probably join him. They’re all waiting, listening for any sound that could indicate their client has finally decided to grace them with their presence, and occasionally looking with Void Gaze for an approaching silhouette. Bringing Corvo hadn’t really been the plan, but Daud can’t say he minds him tagging along. He’s taken amazingly well to the Arcane Bond. If he were any other Whaler, Daud would have brought him along on his first job ages ago.

(Of course he’s not “any other Whaler,” therein lies the problem, doesn’t it? The thought of letting the two parts of his life mix has settled badly with Daud for a while now. Corvo’s plenty capable, even if he does prefer to fight with tooth and claw over any other weapons. Daud knows that Corvo doesn’t care what he does with his powers, that mermaids evidently have some different ideas of morality than humans, but that doesn’t lessen the wordless anxiety.)

A late client is obnoxious, but normally not a solid indication that something is off. So Daud isn’t at all on-edge when Corvo takes his turn to check with Void Gaze, his eyes flicking Outsider-black for a moment, then back again like a third eyelid. 

“Someone’s here,” he murmurs, inclining his head in their direction as Daud and Geoff go to look.

Five figures are approaching in a close, regimented line. They're all broad-shouldered from what Daud suspects is some kind of armor worn under their clothes, and the leader is carrying something bulky strapped to his chest. One turns his head, making the seam of his metal mask visible on his silhouette.

_Overseers._

They've walked into a trap. Daud curses under his breath as he tugs his mask back on and reaches for his sword. Geoff’s already ahead of him, and reaches out a hand to stop Daud from attacking. “I think that’s a music box,” he hisses.

Daud freezes. The High Overseer’s been trying to get them deployed for ages, but from what Daud understands, it’s a whole process. Even after all their tussles with the Abbey, he's never thought the bastard would actually manage to get the approval necessary to deploy any. Because of _course_ he wouldn’t, cocksure idiot that he is, and of course he would be proven wrong at the worst possible time.

That thing won't just cancel their powers, but their bonecharms, too. Daud has a brief, vivid mental image of Corvo's legs vanishing from under him as he tries to get away and his tail spilling out across the floor. Best case? The Overseers kill him outright for being a creature of heresy, a physical embodiment of the dangers of the Void. Worst case? Daud was a student at the Academy, he’s seen what happens to curiosities: rare fish in tiny tanks, insects pinned to boards, beautiful Pandyssian birds strapped down with plucked wings and vivisected when they could provide no more interesting data. An endless stream of animals screaming…

Corvo pulls on his mask and draws a knife, preparing to spring down on the approaching Overseers, unaware.

(They'll strap him down, cut him open to see how he works, to see if he's some kind of living carnival gaff sewn together by a rogue philosopher or spliced by Void magic.)

The first Overseer comes into view, hand on the crankshaft of the box.

(He can hear Corvo _screaming_ as the scalpel…)

_"No!"_

Daud _yanks_ at the Arcane Bond for all he's worth, and suddenly Corvo is beside him, confused. He shoves him at Geoff, snarling for his lieutenant to, "Take him and run!" He can't let Corvo get caught by that box. "I'll distract them."

"Daud—" Corvo begins to protest, but Geoff is faster, acting like he can see Daud's terror through his mask, and drags him off in a transversal.

Daud draws his sword. He has no idea how far the sound of those boxes can reach, and he can't afford to risk Corvo. He'll have to make sure that thing is destroyed. It's been years since he's gone without the Void backing him up, but he's been fighting and killing longer than he's had his powers. Even with the handicap, he still likes his odds.

The leather of his gloves creaks as he grips his sword and jumps down, slashing one Overseer right down the middle and killing him before the others draw their weapons. When he straightens up, blood dripping off his blade and running into the seams of his already red coat, Daud's prepared for a fight.

What he isn't prepared for is the pain. The sudden, crippling pain hits him with the force of a monsoon, knocking him to his knees, breathless and unable to move as the Overseer turns the crank on the music box. It's the worst sound he's ever heard, overwhelming his senses. His limbs won't listen to him, he can't move, and the feeling of suddenly being cut off from the Void is like ice water through his veins.

Something heavy strikes the back of his head, forcing him unconscious. The last thing he remembers is blindly reaching for the Arcane Bond, feeling for Corvo.

* * *

The first transversal catches him off guard. By the time Geoff starts to drag him through a second, Corvo’s trying to struggle out of his grasp to go back to help Daud. By the third, his mask is lost somewhere in an alley below them. They tumble out of the fourth, barely halfway to their intended target and before Corvo is able to land a cheap hit on Geoff to force him to _let._ _Go!_

He scrambles to his feet with a snarl, despite the sudden spike of pain shooting up his left arm and the scrape on his cheek from skidding across the tarred roof. He ignores Geoff where he’s lying prone and hissing with his own pain. How could they just _leave_ Daud like that?! How could—?!

Geoff lunges at his knees before Corvo can attempt a transversal off the roof, pulling him back down. _"Corvo—!"_

"Get the fuck off me!"

"Not until you shut up and listen!"

Corvo's taller, but muscle makes Geoff denser. As they grapple, he manages to get Corvo in a pin and goes limp, forcing him to fight against his weight. 

"Corvo," Geoff begins, clearly trying for something a little more calm in the hopes that will make Corvo listen, "those were Overseers, they had something that can cancel magic, including bonecharms. Daud didn't want them to catch you, please, just—"

Corvo interrupts him with a snarl, baring his teeth. "They have him!"

Geoff hesitates. His mask came off in their scuffle, and Corvo can watch his expression as he debates how much to say. "We can't—"

"We are _not leaving him!"_ Corvo snarls, freeing an arm and swinging to scratch Geoff, nearly catching the new tattoos running down the left side of his face and neck, but he jerks back in time.

"For fucks—Corvo! We don't have a _fucking plan!"_ He manages to catch Corvo's wrist before he can swing at him again. "They have the advantage. And if they already have Daud, what makes you think we'll do any better?!"

Corvo freezes, and Geoff relaxes his grip, just enough to not be squeezing. “Look,” he adds, almost gentle, "Daud stayed behind to make sure you got out in one piece. With that box, you’d have gotten your tail back at the worst possible moment and it would be all over. Do you want that to be for nothing?"

Corvo looks at the linen wraps on his left hand. He can still feel his bonecharm warm against his wrist, even as his skin burns like it's been held too long against ice. As much as he hates to admit it, Geoff is right.

(They'll go home, regroup, make a plan. Geoff has known Daud for longer than Corvo has. They're _friends,_ he's not going to abandon Daud.

There's no way they'll abandon Daud.)

"...No."

They stay like that for a long moment until Geoff is confident enough that Corvo isn't about to do something stupid. He slowly gets to his feet, holding a hand out to help Corvo to his.

"We have to tell the others," Geoff mutters, even though it's clear that anyone with the Arcane Bond has to know something's gone wrong. He shakes his left hand, like he's trying to get rid of a pins-and-needles sensation. "I don't think I can transverse, can you?"

Corvo shakes his head.

Geoff sighs through his nose and scrubs his good hand across his shaved head, mentally running through what Corvo knows is a list of everyone with the Bond, where they're supposed to be, and if that means they need to be rescued. Until they know something about Daud, he'll be the one in charge. "Guess we're walking, then."

* * *

Home is in chaos by the time they arrive; by now everyone knows _something’s_ happened, just not what. Geoff gives an explanation that stops just short of giving all the details. Or maybe he does tell them everything, Corvo’s barely listening. Despite how the Whalers have become as much his family as Daud is (and it _is_ present tense, Corvo would know if…), he can’t help but feel wrong. Out of place. When Geoff puts a hand on his shoulder and kindly explains that he needs to go speak with some of the other masters, Corvo just nods. He slips away from the warehouse the very second he sees an opportunity.

There still isn’t any _plan._ He just… Corvo feels like he’s going to claw himself out of this stupid, useless human skin if he doesn’t do _something!_ But that’s just it, there’s nothing he _can_ do! He should fight, he should be hunting down the bastards and getting Daud back. Make them pay for hurting him instead of worrying and acting _scared…_

Fucking Void, he wants to _scream!_

He ends up walking towards the beach, more out of habit than any real intention to go back to the water. He shouldn’t go, not until he knows Daud is safe, but at the same time he _really_ wants to tear into something with his teeth. If he were as good at fighting as he is at hunting, maybe he would actually be able to fucking help. What use is he, really, outside of a supportive capacity? Daud doesn’t even need him to carve runes anymore, it's not like—

Wait.

Corvo stops, halfway through the second button on his shirt. He's known people the Leviathan has spoken to (his own sister chief among them), but Daud is the first to actually attract his attention for long enough to be marked. That should count for something. It _has_ to count for something.

(It's worth a shot, at least. What does he have to lose?) 

Daud isn't devout. If anything, he supports what Beatrici once said about the Leviathan being amused by her irreverence, but he still keeps a shrine, just in case. When he first showed it to Corvo, Daud was careful to be clear that he didn’t make it himself. It was already here, abandoned in a forgotten corner of the old sewers under a thick layer of dust. Corvo can’t help but think it looks lovely; bone-white driftwood boards draped in heavy purple fabric that could easily pass for curtains in the drawing room of some rich noble and pinned in place by silver sticks Daud identified as hatpins. ("They've been out of fashion for ages.") Nonsensical phrases scrawled on the brick walls suggest that whoever the original owner was, they've long since succumbed to the madness that often grips humans who've gotten too close to the Void.

There isn't a rune on the altar when Corvo arrives, but that's easily solved with a quick trip to the docks for a chunk of whalebone and a stolen knife. He's carved so many for Daud that it's almost an automatic action at this point. The result is rough, hardly his best work (which he could blame on any number of reasons: the knife is dull, the bone is easier to work when it's soaked in seawater, he doesn't have time to finesse it, his left hand barely has sensation, when did he last sleep…?), but it will do. It will _have_ to do.

It’s not like he’d be here if he thought he had any other options.

He’s grateful for the tingling numbness that’s overtaken the pain in his left hand and arm when it comes time to activate the rune. He hasn’t been able to catch any of the rats that hang around the shrine, and even though he knows it’s foolish to use your own blood, there isn’t much else he can use. Corvo pokes the tip of the stolen knife into the meaty part of his palm (at least it’s still sharp enough for that), watches the blood well up with a kind of detachment that comes from not _really_ being able to feel it, and spreads it across the rune. The thirsty bone sucks it up. Its carvings glow… 

...and nothing happens.

Corvo ties some of his linen wraps tightly around his hand to stop the bleeding, frowning. Daud told him that all he needs to do is touch a rune on a shrine to get the Leviathan’s attention.

“Come on,” Corvo mutters, leaning his hands on the altar. “I know I’m not him, but Daud needs help.” If he focuses, he can hear the gentle hum of the rune under the scrabble of rats and the rhythmic dripping of water off a pipe, nothing else. "I'm not asking for your attention; you've made it clear you have no interest in me. Please," his voice nearly cracks on the word, the emotions he's been trying to force down since his scuffle with Geoff on the roof threatening to break the loose grip he has on his composure. He hates it.

"I'll pay anything. Just… Please. Help Daud."

When he finishes and takes his hands away from the altar, Corvo's voice is barely above a whisper. He doesn't look up to see what he knows is dead bone on a silent shrine (somehow it's easier to pretend that maybe he was heard instead of facing the reality that the Leviathan has ignored him once again), just steps back until he finds the damp brick of a wall and slides down to sit.

Maybe he should have done this the old way? Followed the drop of the continental shelf down into the deep ocean, where the veil between here and the Void is thinnest, to seek the Leviathan out. When the cold and the weight of the dark ocean above them becomes too much, most mer who attempt it give up without receiving a response. A handful come home with powerful magic at their disposal. Not quite marked, but close to it.

Corvo has already failed at that method before, and it took almost a whole day to swim down that far, nevermind the return trip. No, all that would have done is waste time Daud doesn't have. At least now Corvo knows he won't get any help from the Leviathan and can start coming up with more concrete plans to help. Or, rather, helping Geoff come up with one.

He should go back. He shouldn't have run away in the first place. Void, why did he think this would do any good? Can't do anything right… 

Even now, as he tries to convince himself that he needs to get up, his body doesn't want to cooperate. He's finally stopped moving for more than thirty consecutive seconds, and the remaining adrenaline that was letting him push onwards has finally run out. He doesn't remember exactly how long it's been since he last slept, only that it was in Daud's bed with him combing his fingers through Corvo's long hair as they both drifted off. Both safe.

It probably isn't safe to sleep here, but Corvo's slept in more questionable places. Besides, there's nothing much he can do to fight against it other than tell himself it's only for a short nap as he closes his eyes.

* * *

Corvo knows he isn't dreaming the moment he realizes he still has his legs and clothes, but that just makes everything more confusing. In front of him is what _looks_ like the sewer tunnel fracturing gradually until it gives way to open ocean. Some of the loose bricks are even bobbing lazily in place as if they’ve just been disturbed by a light eddy. The altar is gone when he turns around, rune and all, with no sign that it ever existed. There's not even a scuff on the floor to show it was moved.

He frowns, clicking his teeth as he mulls over his surroundings. Where… Could he have been pulled into the Void?

(Beatrici told him she dreams that she's back there sometimes, and that it shows her things. "You'll meet him one day," she said, dyed fingertips working the tattoo ink into Corvo’s shoulder. "He'll like you.")

Without any other real options, Corvo starts walking towards the end of the fragment of sewer, and he quickly realizes that it isn’t water surrounding it. Whatever is occupying the space isn’t normal air, either. Light doesn’t diffuse this way on land (though where is it coming from if there’s no sunlight in the Void?), nor does air have visibly swirling currents. Corvo pauses before he steps into it, bracing for the burn of fluid in his lungs on the first breath only to be surprised when it doesn’t come. The air is thicker here in a strange, uncomfortable way, but it doesn’t activate his gills. It probably won’t support him for swimming, either. Better that he not try it, even if he can’t see another path forward…

The Void responds as if his thought is the cue it’s been waiting for; the floor under Corvo’s feet shakes with a low rumble, forcing him to back-up as stray bits of stone and mortar fly past him. It all assembles into a piecemeal staircase, a not-so-subtle nudge to continue forward. As he climbs, the style of the staircase changes from broken bricks to polished marble, though he doesn't understand why until he reaches the top.

It is a fact of its very existence that the Void can’t lie. It will play tricks on your mind and senses, show you things that are more symbolic than real, but it never lies outright. 

Corvo knows this, so when he sees what looks like a perfect still-life of Daud surrounded by Overseers, his stomach drops. Daud is shirtless, strapped to a chair, and bloodied. A drop of blood from his left hand is frozen in midair right before it can splash into the puddle forming on the nice, polished marble tile. In front of him are three Overseers, two in the typical uniform Corvo’s used to seeing, and the third with a red coat and bare face that’s almost as ugly as the soulless masks the others wear. That one is approaching with a smirk as Daud strains at his manacles, his teeth bared like he wants to rip that smug look off the Overseer’s face.

Corvo hates it. The more he looks at the awful tableau, the more his stomach twists. His left hand burns in sympathetic pain at seeing the blood covering Daud’s, but he can’t see what they’ve done to it. (They can’t have _skinned_ it, can they? There’s so much blood… How much are humans supposed to bleed?)

Leaving Daud feels as wrong here as it did hours ago on the roof, but this isn’t real. If Corvo stays here, he’ll be wasting time the real Daud clearly doesn’t have. When Corvo turns, bricks and scattered marble tiles assemble into a new path forward. He follows it past the distant form of the giant bridge from upriver, illuminated by eerie purple buoys as whales pass overhead, singing songs that only hurt Corvo’s head if he tries to pay attention to what they say.

He keeps going until he comes across another scene: Geoff with the masters. All of them are frozen soundlessly in place, just like Daud and the Overseers, but Corvo doesn't need movement or sound to tell the discussion isn’t going well. Geoff is getting into the face of a man Corvo only knows as Escobar, a bastard of a mercenary who doesn’t even live with the rest of them and scares most of the kids, both clearly shouting. Several Whalers are trying to pry them apart while Montgomery tries to get between them to voice some kind of compromise. Off to the side, Yuri’s hands are frozen in the middle of forming a sign as she translates to the mostly-deaf Coleman. The others not directly involved in trying to break up the imminent fight are speaking furtively amongst themselves.

Corvo knows what they're all discussing: is trying to save Daud worth it? It's hard to not be upset with most of them because _how could they,_ but he knows how the situation looks and that they're all afraid of what would happen to them if they fail in a rescue attempt. If the Overseers captured Daud, the most skilled and feared out of all of them, what chance do they have? Most of the masters were mercenaries before joining up; some like Escobar still technically are. The Whalers are just a job to them, Daud just another boss. Why shouldn't they cut their losses now and leave him to whatever fate the Abbey has planned for him?

If nothing else, at least this scene is easier to leave behind than the first one.

Corvo keeps his gaze low as he continues, uninterested in any further tableaus. The sooner he gets to the end of this path, he hopes, the sooner he can leave. (Not that he has any idea what he’ll do when he does, he really only has the mental energy to focus on one problem at a time for the moment.) He never even meant to come here, he just wanted to ask for help, what’s the point of fucking with him like this?

“You know,” he mutters, chancing a look upwards as one of the nonsense whales passes overhead, “the longer you keep me here the less inclined I’ll be to listen when you finally get to the you-damned fucking point.” Yes, because sassing the Void is a smart idea. Of _course_ it is (isn’t), but Corvo’s too tired and worried and frustrated to care. “Because you’d better have a point, or I swear on the Leviathan himself I will become a big _fucking_ problem!”

His is evidently the exact height of stupidity. Corvo takes one step, then another, and suddenly he’s...falling? Falling. Through the swirling, off-color nothingness that is the Void. At what he feels _should_ be great speeds, but without any point of reference it’s impossible to tell. By the time he realizes that _oh,_ he should probably be screaming, he stops. He’s standing still, with no memory of how he landed. He just...stops falling.

He finds himself on a beach that’s more rock than sand, and he doesn’t have to look around to know the sea cave where he first met Daud is behind him. If he were to walk down a little ways, he’d find the tide pool he liked sitting in for their talks, where Daud gave him his bonecharm. Where Corvo finally kissed him. It’s their beach.

There’s no ocean here, no crashing of waves—just the soft clatter of the small stones that periodically slide off the spit of land and into the Void. Above him, streams of a familiar, heavy purple fabric undulate in a nonexistent wind (current?) like lights in the sky, beckoning him forward.

“All right,” Corvo murmurs, “I’m listening.”

There are no more scenes as Corvo walks the length of the beach, and he knows he’s getting close when the streams of fabric overhead begin to taper. It’s after he carefully steps around a large boulder sitting precariously on the edge of the crumbling beach (he doesn’t think he’d _die_ if he slipped, it’s just that he really doesn’t want to risk a repeat of his unsettling fall) that he finally sees where they anchor. Daud’s shrine sits at the tip of a narrow sliver of rock jutting out into the swirling Void. Or… No, it’s something below it that’s swirling. Corvo can’t quite see from this angle, but something below the shrine is throwing off wisps of black that curl like smoke.

Or squid ink. As Corvo approaches, he realizes the wisps have too much mass to be smoke; they’re too thick and diffuse too slowly (normal rules clearly don’t apply here, so his evaluation could be entirely wrong). By the time he gets to where the beach gives way to Void stone, he can see whatever it is below the shrine more fully; although, he doesn’t get much more information to work with. The maybe-smoke-maybe-squid-ink wisps appear to be coming off of a giant black disk that domes slightly up towards the middle and gleams dully. Something is floating just above it.

When he staggers, it’s from the shock of recognition.

It’s been...what? Four...almost five years since he’s seen his sister? She’s younger here than when he last saw her, but there’s no doubting it _is_ her. Beatrici’s dark hair floats up behind her, and the bioluminescence on her blue-green tail is frozen in a bright flash, like something surprised her. The tattooed mark of the Leviathan on her side is still red from where she did it herself, and her fingertips and claws aren't blackened, details that tell Corvo exactly when this must be.

He remembers when he tried to get the Leviathan’s attention. He swam down for hours, until the weight of the ocean above him threatened to crush his ribs and the cold overrode any remaining ache from the new tattoo on his shoulder. That far down, the ocean is darker than anything Corvo has ever seen before or since. It seemed impossible that he was looking for something even darker, but that was how Beatrici had described her meeting with the Leviathan.

("He's massive, bigger than anything you can imagine, with eyes so black they swallow everything. You don't realize there's still light down there until you see them.")

Corvo looks again at the disk below the statue of his sister. With how it gleams, it looks like it should be reflecting the bright lights from her tail, but there’s nothing. He stares at it, taking in the shape, the slight shine, the massive size, and Beatrici’s shock until he realizes…

It isn’t a disk. It’s an _eye._

_“Your kind have always been so interesting.”_

The voice from behind him makes Corvo freeze, his thoughts screeching to a halt.

_“You aren’t like humans, who think I’ll grant them favors if they leave the right prayers or offerings, only to lose themselves when they get too close to what they think they want. You may have your shrines, your rituals, but there’s something...fundamentally different in them. You understand I’m not interested in worship.”_

Corvo doesn’t know what he expects to see when he turns around, but it certainly isn’t what he finds: a boy, rail thin and pale with black hair and a too-large coat. The eyes are the only reason Corvo’s sure of who he is. They’re the same, light-devouring black of the giant one now behind him. The boy’s gaze bores into him, hollowing him out and flaying him alive.

But this isn’t the Leviathan, the infinite monster that slumbers in the deep ocean. No, this… This is an eldritch creature that’s packaged itself up and stuffed itself into a skin to try and play at being human. The boy smiles knowingly at Corvo, and the expression is remarkable in the sheer _wrongness_ of it. It’s the difference between the Leviathan and the Outsider.

As if he hears Corvo’s thoughts, the Outsider gives a low hum. It sounds like whalesong, only twisted to fit in a human throat.

 _“Your sister was particularly interesting,”_ he continues. _“There were reasons for the rites curious mer undergo before coming to look for me, but time has forgotten most what they were. She was too young, and by all accounts shouldn’t have survived without them.”_ The Outsider folds his hands behind his back and disappears in a flurry of Void-stone and an overwhelming scent of ocean salt and burning ozone that makes Corvo dizzy. When he reappears, it’s by the shrine where he picks up the misshapen rune Corvo used to try to call him. 

_“Does a lack of self-preservation run in your family?”_

Corvo can _feel_ the Outsider’s hands gripping his heart and gasps. (The blood, he shouldn’t have used his own blood as the offering, of course, what kind of fucking idiot—)

_“Or is it just desperation?”_

The cold, squeezing sensation stops as the Outsider releases the chunk of bone, watching it leisurely return to float just above the altar.

Corvo wills his shaking knees to straighten and his breathing to slow to normal as he searches for words. “Daud… Daud’s been captured.”

The Outsider’s expression shifts for the briefest of seconds before returning to neutral. _“I know.”_

When he doesn’t say anything else, Corvo takes half a step forward. “Can you help him?”

The Outsider tilts his head a little, as if Corvo’s just said something curious. _“And how would you propose I do so?”_ When Corvo doesn’t have a response, he continues, _“I would have thought you’d know better than to make such an open-ended request.”_ (Yeah, well, Corvo will just have to add that to the fucking list of stupid shit he’s done in the past twenty-four hours, won’t he?) _“But no.”_

Corvo blinks, not sure he's heard him correctly. He can't have heard him correctly. “What do you mean ‘no?’”

_“I can't help him.”_

That’s… Corvo presses his claws into the palms of his hands to give himself something tangible to focus on. “Why not?” he asks, surprised by how even his voice sounds when all he wants to do is scream. “He’s one of yours, isn’t he?” He didn’t just give Daud a small taste of magic, he marked him. If that isn’t favor, Corvo doesn’t know what is.

The Outsider frowns. _“I don’t play favorites.”_

Bullshit. “...You and I both know that’s a lie.”

Instinct says that was a mistake, but the Outsider chuckles as he disappears in another flurry of Void-stone. He reappears within touching distance of Corvo. In fact, that’s what he does; picking up Corvo’s left hand as if to examine the linen strips wrapped around it. The Outsider’s hands are clammy and freezing, even through the fabric.

 _“Do you know why I speak to some, and not to others?”_ he asks, turning over Corvo’s hand between his own.

“You like people who are interesting.” But besides that, no, no one really does.

 _“Yes, but what_ makes _them interesting?”_ The Outsider’s fingers are long. Sometimes, right before or after Corvo blinks, they look too long. Or have too many joints. He finds the knot tied around Corvo’s wrist and carefully undoes it. _“Time is nothing if not a series of patterns, endlessly repeating. I can see them, running on and on until everything stops. Empires rise and fall, religions and cults are soon replaced or changed, people exist on the same track as those who came before. The interesting ones carve their own patterns.”_ Arriving at the scabbed over wound on Corvo’s palm, the Outsider pauses for a moment, then presses his thumb to it. Corvo hisses in pain as what looks like smoke seeps from around the Outsider’s digit, only for the skin to be completely healed when he releases it.

“What does this have to do with helping Daud?” Something about the Outsider’s voice is soothing, like the rhythmic crashing of waves, and Corvo has to focus hard to keep his mind (and their conversation) on topic.

 _“Who says we’re still talking about him?”_ The Outsider looks up from his examination of Corvo’s fingers. _“He wouldn’t be the first of my marked to grow dull over time. All of them do, eventually.”_

Corvo feels his pupils constrict to pinpoints. _“I’m_ still talking about him,” he hisses.

The Outsider gives a rumbling, noncommittal hum and turns Corvo’s hand to look at the scar-like mark from the Arcane Bond. _“You’re very certain he’s still alive.”_

That’s… Corvo doesn’t even want to think of what he might be implying. “I’d know if he wasn’t.”

_“Would you, though? Time moves strangely in the Void.”_

Corvo yanks back his hand, snarling. _“What,_ exactly, do you want me to say?!” He bares his teeth. “‘I don’t know what I’ll do if he dies?’ I don’t even have a plan for if he’s _still alive!”_

For his part, the Outsider doesn’t look disturbed by his outburst. In fact, Corvo could swear his black eyes are sparking with something like interest. _“What would you want to do?”_ he asks, leaning forward with palpable anticipation.

If ability wasn’t a factor? The answer is almost easy. “I’d hunt them down, bite out their throats, and eat their livers. Leave what’s left as a warning until I’ve killed the rest of them.” He presses his claws into the palms of his hands again, trying to ground himself away from the phantom scent of blood, unblinkingly meeting the Outsider’s intense gaze. “Then I’d strip their bones, carve them into runes as a final insult, and use them to build a shrine.” If he made the carvings while the bones were still wet, would he even need an additional blood offering? He can imagine a room full of that nice, shiny marble covered in blood except for an intricately carved altar with human longbones for legs, a back made of fanned-out ribs, and a top made from pelvises lashed in a circle, tailbones supporting what used to be the skull of the High Overseer.

The Outsider cracks a smile that just keeps _going,_ twisting the face of his human form with rows and rows of sharp teeth. He reaches out for Corvo again, tucking a bit of hair that's fallen loose from his braid behind his ear as wisps of smoke and shadow coalesce around the two of them. The back of Corvo's left hand burns, and he doesn't have to look away from the morphing body in front of him to know that the scar there has been replaced with the deep, dark black of the angriest ocean.

 _"I do so love your kind,"_ the Leviathan rumbles.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is your friendly reminder that mermaids in this fic are obligate carnivores i guess...?


End file.
